Don't Worry It's Normal
by hobovill99
Summary: He knows her as Jill, the weird girl from class who bit him once. She knows him as Leo, the boy who stopped coming to school when his mom died. He knows her as Jill, the girl who apparently once knew a goat that could read his thoughts. She knows him as Leo, the boy who she is now stuck with, because that goat could read her thoughts too. Eventual Leo/OC. T for language and such.
1. Who Run The World? Goats Goats Do

**Hi.**

**If you've been here a while: MEET THE NEW JILL!**

**If you haven't: This fic used to be called It's Called Amnesia and I am currently revamping it.  
**

**Because YOLO.**

**Also because old Leo was OOC af and old Jill was Mary Sue af.**

**So, enjoy this prologue.**

-Jillian-

When my bedroom door banged open at two in the morning, showering cheap-door splinters all over the foot of my pseudo-bed (Just a mattress with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle bed spreads, really), I was 92.86 percent sure there were going to be Missing Person posters with my face on them by tomorrow afternoon.

I took a deep breath, preparing to bust out my rape-shriek, but then I heard a thud and a mutter of '_Fuck._' in a nasally, the-balls-have-not-quite-dropped voice.

It was just Herman.

"_Dude_." I reduced my eyes from darting all across the room in a panicked frenzy to just glancing between my sister, Marybeth, sleeping soundly in a mattress next to mine (Her's with a One Direction pillow and blanket pair), unperturbed by Herman's terminal klutziness, and Herman himself, too skinny for his tent-sized Superman t-shirt and crouched awkwardly in the doorway of my room, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He didn't seem to hear me.

"Jill." He scrambled over to my pillow and yanked me out of bed by the back of my shirt, ignoring my high-pitched wails of protest, "Jill. Fuck. Jill. We need to go."

I stared at his legs, still groggy despite the heartbeat jackhammering in the back of my skull. They were furry, bent backwards at the knees and ended in sharp cloven hooves.

I blinked. Then I remembered.

"You're taking this pretty well compared to…well, it's a long story."

He had said that earlier that day, in that wonky accent he always spoke Spanish in. My sister was visiting her mother. I was sitting on my bed, knees pulled up to my chest, staring. And he was crouched on the floor.

Pantsless.

Furry.

Cloven.

I shrugged, more in shock than actually aloof and indifferent, "I mean, I've seen Billy Ramirez's weird back-wart. I guess this is just the next natural step."

He kicked out at me with a creepily nubby hoof, but smiled all the same.

"Fuck off." Then his goofy, crooked-teeth grin faded into a look of concerned seriousness, "But it's ok, right? You're not going to flip out on me?"

I took a moment to mentally breathe into a paper bag. This was fine. Everything was fine. I started playing a episode of Dr. Phil in my head.

_Don't worry. It's completely normal for your friends to come out a half-goats. Nothing to be concerned about. Just remember to always be supportive of their decisions within their new lifestyle!_

This was still Herman. Minus the great ass I'd always secretly assumed he did under baggy jeans, but still Herman. Herman who shared his lunch with me when my dad packed me nothing but a plastic container with some toothpaste in it. Herman who made paper airplanes for me to launch at the back of teachers' heads since I'd never learned how. Herman who gave me Valentine's Day cards with dicks drawn all over them every year since he'd moved to Texas. Herman who told me, struggling to breathe and frantically wringing his hands, that Leo Valdez's mom died in a fire and no one had seen him since.

_Still Herman_, I told myself, trying my absolute hardest not to look at the two polished-brown curlicues sticking out from the wild red forest of his hair.

"Sure." I tried to smile. Believe me, I did, "Why the hell not."

"You're a satyr."

It was the word I had learnt after a quick Google search the moment Herman had put his jeans back on and trotted along home. Pride at having a new vocabulary word and the vague surprise drifting over my sleep delirium forced the sentence out of my mouth.

He turned his distractedly moving gaze from the window to me. It was too dark to see his face; I could just _feel_ the waves of exasperation rolling off of him, "No fucking shit, Sherlock."

I gave an exaggerated blink, squeezing my eyelids shut as tight as I could without rupturing something and then opening them up as far as they could go without splitting. It cleared my head. Just a bit.

I looked at him. My eyesight hadn't fully adjusted, but I felt a jolt in the back of my brain when our eyes met across the heavy night air of Texas.

"What's wrong? What's happening?"

Herman grabbed my arm, harshly, not the least bit romantic, and started leading me to the window that streamed the light of a thousand glowing street lamps over my bedroom. They were all off at this hour, but the creepy shadows they always left still lingered on in the cloudy moonlight.

I stopped short. Herman jolted and nearly fell flat on his face.

"What are you fucking doing?"

He turned on me, infuriated. An emotion most people experienced when they had to deal with me, "Saving your goddamn life."

"From what?"

"There's no fucking time to explain, Jill. I need you to fucking hurry."

"But what about all my stuff?"

"There'll be time later."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll find out."

"Are you some great foreteller of prophecy now?"

"No. That's Rachel."

"What?"

"Nothing. Whatever. JUST HURRY."

I glanced over to my sister. Our entire conversation was whisper-shouted. And she was sleeping right through it.

"Dude-"

I was interrupted. Not by Herman.

A throat-curdling roar tore at the air around my ears. I felt my already jumpy heart rate increase to a level that almost scared me as much as the sound itself.

Herman snarled. Like this was all my fault.

Marybeth finally woke up.

Herman yanked a set of panpipes from the front pocket of his flannel shirt. A few off-key notes and she was back in LalaLand with hardly enough time to finish the 'What the actual fuck' that was hissing between the gap in her teeth. It didn't seem to effect whatever in god's name was outside, though.

Which was a damn shame.

Then he turned on _me_.

"THIS IS WHY YOU SHOULD FUCKING LISTEN TO ME."

He grabbed my arm with one hand, even more violently than before, and shoved open my window with another. He was lucky that my family was too poor to afford proper window locks. We stumbled out, him pushing me out before him. Me a shoeless mess of bed head and slogan'd booty shorts and him a gangly pile of freckly arms and quaking goat legs.

We landed in a tangled heap on the concrete by my bedroom, and as soon as his elbow detached itself from my face, we were running. I didn't even know what from, but I knew it was nothing good.

Nothing with screams that reach right down your esophagus and drown your soul is good news.

Herman was a panting mess, trailing just a few feet behind me despite his initial head start. And that… _thing_… whatever the fucking hell it was, was bounding along the sidewalk what felt like just a few inches away from the back of my neck. I was already sweating puddles in the thick July fug, but I kept running. Remembering everything I taught myself in track and field. One foot in front of the other. Don't think about how much it burns. Keep going. Keep going. Breath in. Breathe out.

I wasn't until he started screaming that I realized I was leaving Herman behind.

The bottoms of my feet bled with the sudden friction caused by my halt. I whipped around, preparing to run back to him through my injuries. But then I stopped.

And just stared.

Because I can't tell you what happened next.

Because all I remember is a mountain of black, broken by two glowing red eyes and a set of gleaming white fangs.

Then there was more red, as the legs that I already had a dozen jokes mentally noted about were torn from Herman's body in one merciless swipe.

Herman couldn't scream for me to save myself, or give any other dramatic last words. Because that was it.

I backed up three steps. Then I turned around. Then I sprinted until I couldn't anymore and collapsed in a heap on the side of a highway I hadn't realized I had been following.

-Annabeth-

"Another one. She's banged up pretty bad, but it's nothing a little ambrosia can't fix."

"Terrible timing." Annabeth muttered, not really looking at the meek little Apollo-girl who had delivered the news, "Terrible fucking timing."

The girl, Stacy, Annabeth believed, just shrugged, "She can't help it." Annabeth ignored her, which she took as an invitation to keep talking, "A scouting party found her on the side of the road, totally out. She was being followed by a hellhound, but Will shot it down just in time. Her satyr companion died, I think. It's gonna mess up her brain a little, having that connection broken at such a young age."

Annabeth still with held any contribution to Stacy's monologue, hoping she'd get the message and fuck off.

Apparently not.

"We should hold a memorial service."

"We don't have time for personal things in war."

Stacy smiled and crinkled her nose at the same time, making her look more like a pug than her long face warranted, "Whatever your say, Ann."

"Go back to treating the patients, Stacy. Gods know we need the extra medical staff."

She nodded, but slipped in one more detail before she shut up for good, "Call it Apollo's intuition, but I can tell she's a special one."

"We'll see about that."

The girl grinned, halfway out of the doorway, so tantalizingly close to leaving Annabeth in peace that it took most of her self-restraint not to roundhouse kick the Apollo girl out of the building, "I'm sure you will."

-Leo-

I'd stopped waking up yelping a long time ago. You tend to slip into a habit when the other option is being smothered half to death by your cranky bunkmate.

So instead, I woke up gulping for air.

It was still dark out and the landscape was dead and silent. Even Rory's snoring, usually the sound of blaring trumpets, was subdued.

There was no reason for me to be awake.

Other than the gaping hole I suddenly felt in the pit of my stomach.

It was a feeling of loss matched only by the too-soon death of my mother.

The feeling came with a flash of dark fur. Wild shrieks. Laying down in a pool of red.

And then an eerily clear image of a vaguely familiar girl, bed-mussed hair puffing out in weird directions on either side of her neck, blood trickling from the soles of her feet, eyes wide in soul-crushing horror.

I forced myself to breathe and felt to urge to make sure my legs were still intact.

_Herman_.

The name ringed in my head like a solid whack of a gong.

And then-

_Jill._

This one more like tinkling bells. Reminding me of Spanish swear words and not knowing what to think.

I flipped onto my side under my bedsheets, wondering if one of the caretakers slipped something wonky into my morning porridge.

And then I drifted back into sleep.

_Herman_.

Quiet. Just a whisper.

And then-

_Jill_.

Shrieking and tearing out its hair.

**Don't think I'm a review whore (Even though I totally am), but please leave a review. I legitimately freak out when people follow me but don't say anything. It's kinda creepy.**

**Say whatever, even if it's just "YOUR FANFIC SUCKS DIE U FUCKIN WHORE".**

**Just let me know you're not creepy alien people out to eat my gallbladder**


	2. All I Wanted Was A Damn XBox

-Jillian-

_Find him._

_Find Leo._

_Please, Jill._

_For me._

I snapped awake, flinging myself onto my own lap and leaving a nice, gloppy pile of my stomach acids there while I was at it.

Classy. I know.

It took three tries to get my eyes open, seeing as they were glued shut with at least a millennia's worth of eyeball-crust, and when I did, I nearly fainted myself right back to sleep.

I was on a sofa. In room. Lined from ceiling to floor with gawping, empty-eyed faces.

I scrambled off of the couch, shrieking, bringing the now vomit-weighted blanket down to the floor with me.

Then I blinked.

They were just masks. Smiling and grimacing and scowling, but still somehow completely blank.

But still. Leaving a teenager in a room full of _fucking creepy-ass dead people masks_ is more than a little sketchy.

I dragged heaving breaths into my lungs. My throat was dry. My mouth tasted like dead skin. My stomach was growling. And I kind of needed to take a piss.

I blinked again. And the door was locked.

"Fuck." I didn't even know what was going on, but I knew it was bad, "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckshitfuck."

_Herman._

"Damnitfuckshitfuckgoddamnit."

My head was clamped firmly between my knees, the only thing that seemed to be keeping it from melting. Sobs tore at my throat, bringing more puke up with them. Herman was dead, and I had just as well killed him. And now here I was, trapped in a room full of masks that could only be hell.

"WhatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdo."

And then I stood up

Because I had a goal.

_Leo._

_Please, Jill._

_For me._

I stumbled and shook as I walked around the room, using the mask-less parts of the walls to stabilize myself, trying to find an exit. Or a lock picking kit. Wracking my brain for Leo as I went.

_Leo Valdez._

Short kid. The only one in the class, maybe even the world, who was shorter than me. Funny, too, though maybe my eight-year-old mind was biased from experiencing nothing but fart-based humor up to that point.

I had no idea what he had to do with anything, but I trusted Herman above anything and anyone else.

And according to him, Leo needed finding. So who was I to argue.

The door gave a morbid-sounding click and swung open. My first instinct was to grab the nearest mask, a big plastic one of a vibrantly painted weeping clown (My personal least favorite type of clown), and chuck it at the shadow that had appeared in the blindingly white light behind the doorway.

It hit its target right between the eyes, but bounced right back off, summoning not much more than an 'Ow.' and a mutter of 'What in the actual fuck…'.

I picked another mask, this one heavy and wooden, depicting what looked like a psychopathic transvestite, and winded myself up to throw it full force.

But then-

"Hey, lady. I surrender."

The mask landed on the floor with a clunk, Psycho-tranny leering at her/his unjust treatment.

I stopped. And stared.

It was-

-Leo-

_Jillian_, The name was burning into my brain ever since the nightmares started. Two nights ago, by my count. It was being flipped over and analyzed nonstop in the backdrop of the work I was doing on the Argo II.

_Jill_, while I was installing toilets.

_Jillian Reyes_, while I screwed a satellite dish the deck, ignoring Jason's annoyed huffing about the people of today's dependency on wifi.

_J Rey_, as I hung pinup style posters of myself in everyone's bedroom.

Her face had looked familiar, even when it was twisted in disgust and horror like it was in my dreams. And sure enough, one peek into the 5th grade year book that had arrived on my bed in cabin 9 along with all my other belongings, revealed a Jillian Adonia Reyes.

Her chubby eight-year-old cheeks, oddly shiny in the terrible lighting, were placed perfectly on either side of a evil smile and curled up under slightly manic eyes.

Jillian Adonia Reyes. I could hardly make out her name through the darkened boiler room and my dyslexia, but the face was unmistakable.

Rory was sleeping back at his own cabin that night, so I flipped through the next few pages with renewed vigor, not minding too much as the loud flaps echoed around the metal room, and there she was again.

This time in a group shot of Mrs. Santiago's class. I smiled a little, looking at the plump face of the last proper teacher I had before running away. She was one of the nicest teachers in the school, but still lost her patience with me on a hourly basis. It wasn't a great picture of Mrs. Santiago. She was side-eyeing Jill and me, her expression projecting a slightly panicked concern, as if she was worried that the two of us standing together would cause an inevitable plague.

Looking at our matching demon-grins, I couldn't help thinking that maybe there was a basis to her fretting.

I still didn't know what she had to do with anything.

"So… " Rory looked up from the panel he was adjusting, prompting me, "New camper, huh?"

I shrugged, only half-listening, still trying to figure out exactly how to connect an XBox to the lounge.

He was silent for a moment or two, but didn't go back to working, "It's bad timing, huh?"

"Do you have to end every sentence with 'huh?'?"

He ignored my snapping. He was one of the only non-Hephaestus campers that bothered to help me out on the ship longterm (probably one of the only campers, period.) and was fully used to and fully indifferent to my frayed nerves and short temper. Calmness. That came easy with the Hypnos cabin.

What didn't come easy was willingness to do anything other than sleep, which was why I kind of appreciated him. Despite his obnoxiously slow voice and refusal to be woken up even a second before noon.

"She's been sleeping since the day before yesterday," Rory said, almost sounding envious for a moment, but then turning scared, "I didn't want to look into her dreams, but they were really loud. And kinda messed up."

I put down the XBox, half interested in what he was saying and half just completely done with my original goal of 24/7 console gaming.

"Messed up how?"

Rory shuddered, causing his rolls of fat to jiggle like jello, "Like, there was a lot of blood. And a hellhound. Except it was giant. Bigger than Mrs. O'Leary!" He looked at the screwdriver clutched in his chubby, grease-stained fist, "And then there was just this…_ tearing_ in my head. Like someone was ripping out part of my brain. I asked Clovis about it, and he said he felt it too." Then he turned to me, eyes wider than I'd ever seen them. Filled with terror, "Do you think she's dangerous?"

I was fully facing him now, definitely interested, ignoring the questioning creaks of Festus over the intercom.

Rory looked me full in the face, using the powers he got from his dad to throw her dreams right at me.

I felt bile building in the back of my throat.

Because it was the exact same images that I had seen in my nightmares two days ago. The same day, I realized now, that this mysterious new camper had arrived.

A satyr, tall, gangly and redheaded. His screams being cut short as his bloody goat legs were severed from his body in a flurry of fang and spittle. The girl.

Jill.

With her feet bleeding and her hands shaking. Except I was her this time. My own feet stinging on the grainy concrete and my own fingers spasming at my sides.

_Herman_. Pounding in my head.

_Find him._

_Find Leo._

I blinked. Hard. Once. Twice. Until the fear clawing at my stomach loosened its grip and I could breathe regularly again.

Rory stared at me, a little concerned at my violent reaction to the girls' thoughts, "Do you think she's dangerous?" He said again, softer this time.

Before I could answer a series of short, rapping knocks came from the metal door next to my ear.

I lunged towards it, glad for the distraction, not really wanting to think about the shivers creeping up my spine.

It was one of the Apollo girls. The one I was always glad I wasn't technically related to. Stephanie? Lacy? Stacy? Maci?

I tried to keep my eyes off of the reflective surfaces all over the room, suddenly aware that I was coated in grease and hadn't bothered brushing my teeth that morning.

"Hey…Maci?"

"It's Stacy."

"Right. I knew that."

I didn't want to be rude and ask her to bugger off, but she was just standing there… and I had work to do.

She coughed, a delicate, fairy-like sound it seemed only girls could master, "Um… Chiron asked me to call you over." She looked me up and down, "If you want to clean up…"

I shifted from foot to foot, part of my mind still on Jill, but most of it wondering what I could do that would give me the best chance of getting laid.

"I think I'll just go like this." I tried to insert some humor, hoping to make her smile. And maybe decide to make out with me somewhere down the line, "Natural beauty and such."

She shrugged in a 'Free-country' sort of way, completely ignoring the lust she felt at my witty commentary, and gestured me to follow her to the Big House.

It suddenly occurred to me to wonder if I was in trouble.

Stacy left me to walk the rest of the way to the Big House on my own, apparently deciding that her tall, tan, buff siblings were cooler than me.

When I arrived at my destination, cold sweat was already building on the back of my neck.

_Did I do something?_

_Was there a setback in the plans?_

_Did someone DIE?_

Chiron was standing on the porch, in centaur form, pacing. With his hands crossed behind his back.

That meant it wasn't good news.

I stopped at the base of the rickety wooden steps that lead up to the suburban but still oddly intimidating building, "What happened?"

He stopped clip-clopping to stare at me. His stares were always uncomfortable. Piercing and searching and forlorn and expecting and disappointed, all at the same time.

"I'm sure you've heard about the… ah… _new camper_." He put air-quotes over the last phrase, making me cringe inwardly.

"Yeah. Jillian, right?"

He cocked an eyebrow, making me realize that he probably didn't know the girl's name himself. He didn't press me, but seemed to be keen on staring at me extra intently from that point on.

"Shall I cut straight to the chase?"

"Why not." My shrug was awkwardly casual, like a cartoon character throwing their hands in their pockets and whistling.

Chiron took a breath, "She's been muttering your name in her sleep. Even your mother's name once or twice. I think she may be the '_Child of laughter, not joy_' we've been waiting for."

The Other Prophecy. That was the last place I had been expecting the conversation to go to.

"Can I… go see her?"

He nodded, solemn, as always, "She's right inside. I've been keeping the Big House closed while she sleeps." He paused, as if questioning the sheer ridiculosity of his own actions, "She might still be out."

I made myself put on foot in front of the other, an irrational dread building in my stomach as I pushed myself up creaking steps and reached for the doorknob.

Apparently, my fear was totally reasonable, as the moment the door squealed open, I was hit full in the face with a plastic clown head.

I stared at the eery, eyeless mask at my feet and then looked up at the thrower.

_Jill._

-Jillian-

_Leo._

**A/N:  
This is a bit of a clusterfuck chapter. As in it's an obviously rushed mess.**

**There'll be a few more of these. It's basically just me rushing through to get to the action packed parts. Though I'm actually fairly pleased at how this turned out.**

**REVIEWS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED!**


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